


Masquerade

by Horsdemavue



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horsdemavue/pseuds/Horsdemavue
Summary: 5 times someone sees through Tammy's lie and the one time she didn't have to lie at all
Relationships: Debbie Ocean/Tammy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [humanveil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!  
> Thanks for the really good prompts! this turned into more of a character examination and less ship-y than i expected. I hope you enjoy it!  
> A thousand thanks to El for the Beta, everything wrong that remains is mine

#### 1\. Lou

Terrible EDM is playing so loud it feels like the speakers are pumping it directly under her skin, she's sipping on a truly vile blue drink, and despite the owner's best efforts the dim, strobing lightning does nothing to hide the ugliness of the place. Lou sighs happily and lifts her foot just to feel the ground trying to cling to her shoe. She loves this place.

"I hate this place," Debbie screams in her ear. She's just come back from the throng of sweaty people dancing, leaving her sticky brethren to get a drink at the bar. She tries and fails to get the bartender's attention.

"Yeah? Because it looked like you were having a pretty good time," Lou screams back. There had been some tasteful grinding going on, with someone Lou is pretty sure was the new girl. It's not a surprise, Tammy is pretty in that preppy, clean-cut way Debbie likes, and it might even work in their favor. "You have an interesting way of recruiting talent. I don't hate it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. We're just two professionals celebrating a job well done."

"Teamwork makes the team work," Lou says, raising her drink. The bartender notices Debbie at last and she can finally order her boring non-neon cocktail.

Lou scans the crowd, looking for their new friend. She finds Tammy at the edge of the fray, bopping off-rhythm to some European techno song. They really could use her on their team. She had been really good at getting them all the illegal things they'd needed for the job, fake certifications with a credible paper trail, fancy imported gizmos, and a really nice set of brass knuckles. And when shit hit the fan as it always does, she'd jumped in with them, barging in on the deal, pretending to be a competing buyer. The mark had bought it, hadn't seen the slight tremor in Tammy's hands or the worried twist of her mouth.

And now here they are, each ten thousand dollars richer, celebrating in the first night club they'd stumbled across.

"Should we go extract her?" she asks Debbie, who is already staring.

Debbie goes in without answering, approaching Tammy with an intent, dangerous look on her face. Lou watches as Tammy sees her coming and stops her dancing, letting Debbie pull her away. Their heads bend down as they talk, their bodies crushed together. Tammy looks up, turns towards Lou, nods at something Debbie says and starts walking to one of the tables.

They're already deep in conversation when she joins them. It's quieter here than at the bar, not by much but enough so that Debbie shouldn't need to lean in so close to Tammy, her nose practically buried in her hair. Lou leans in as well, straining just enough to catch Debbie's purred, "We'd love to have you."

It's hard to tell under the pink and purple lights, but Lou's pretty sure Tammy is blushing. It's rare for Debbie to be so aggressive when she's flirting. New girl might have made a deeper impression than Lou thought.

"You did really great today," Lou butts in. They have some more business to take care of before Debbie can get hers. "The whole week actually, you were great."

"We've been looking for somebody who can take care of all the logistical stuff." Debbie leans back a little, out of Tammy's space, but keeps a hand on her arm.

"I don't know. This isn't really what I thought I'd be doing."

"But you're so good at it." 

She looks pleased to hear it, and a little surprised. "Yeah?"

"And you had fun, I know you had fun."

"I did but it's not about- I wouldn't be doing stuff like that again anyway."

"Why not? It went fine!"

"I was only supposed to do the supplying stuff. You and Lou do the acting and the… " She trails off awkwardly.

"The thieving," Debbie says in an exaggerated undertone, leaning into Tammy's space.

"I don't think you're supposed to be admitting to that out loud."

"See! You're a natural. You know all the ropes already."

"I'm sure there's more ropes you could show me." it's an awful line, clumsily delivered, but it shuts Debbie right up. She's got a stupid look on her face, eyes round and her mouth slightly open like she was going to say something and it died on the way out.

It's like that little victory was just what Tammy needed. Her smile gets more confident and she sits up a bit. Now she's the one encroaching on Debbie's space.

"Would you let me do more stuff like this?" she asks. Not for the first time, Lou wonders what all those other people who worked with her before had been thinking, only using her as a fence.

"Absolutely, whatever you want," says Debbie, who is usually much better at negotiations.

"We might have another job, actually," Lou says. "The mark knows me, so I'm out, but we need someone to go with Debbie. We were going to pass on it, because we didn't have anyone we trusted, but if you're in?"

Tammy is silent for a moment, her eyes falling on Debbie's hand still on her arm. Whatever the outcome of this conversation, Lou is pretty sure Debbie's not going home alone tonight.

"Okay," she says finally. "One more job, to make sure this one wasn't a fluke. But I'm still not sold on the whole thing."

Lou nods obligingly, not buying it.

"How's your French?"

#### 2\. The Mark

From the top of the stairs, Estelle watches fancy rentals line up, one after the other, on the gravel driveway.

"Welcome everyone!" Her words are slightly accented, the Rs a little too harsh, the vowels a little too short. Enough to sound charmingly French but not enough to alienate her mostly American audience. A very small lie she has honed to perfection. In truth, her mother had been American and she had spent most of her summer months in childhood gallivanting in the New England countryside. Her natural accent was as American as a Kennedy's. But people were more likely to pay thousands of dollars to hear your advice if you gave it in an old-world accent. It did fit in better with the stone works anyway.

"Bienvenue au château Gaillard."

The guests gather around the fountain in front of the stairs, dragging their monogrammed suitcases behind them. The women have adopted the distinctive gait of someone trying to walk on grass in stiletto heels. There's no reason for them to be so dressed up, the retreat was clearly advertised as a relaxation stay, but the pictures of the castle and its rambling curated grounds tend to have that effect on people.

"Thank you all for choosing to spend your precious time with us." She tries to meet as many eyes as possible, lingering every so often. It is important that they all feel this is personal.

"In the next three days you will have time to explore our beautiful garden," she says, with a sweeping arm gesture that encompasses the rose garden, the glass houses, the small woods, the other smaller woods, and the rolling lawn. "But tonight, we feast."

Excitedly, people start coming up the stairs. She stands by the door and allows them to personally introduce themselves. One by one they shake her hand, or for the most adventurous ones, kiss her cheek.

One of them, though Estelle does not pay attention at the time, is a brown-haired woman with frank dark eyes and a nervous-looking blonde companion. She greets Estelle in French. "I know we're going to have so much fun here."

Estelle leads everyone to a large room filled with plush armchairs arranged in cozy circles and small tables teeming with hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine.

In the background, Bizet is playing over the expensively discreet speakers. She has carefully curated the evening's soundtrack with classical pieces that are just famous enough for her attendees to recognize, but obscure enough that they would be proud of it. It takes so little to make sure that they start their stay in the right mood.

The business of extracting tens of thousands of dollars from bored rich couples is not unlike walking a tightrope.

And because she is an exceptional funambulist, it takes no time at all for people to start talking, gathering around the food and admiring the bookcases lining the walls.

Flitting from one loose group to another, Estelle hears the same plane travel horror stories and train-station nightmares slowly drift to more lofty subjects, as if not to offend the intricate moldings on the ceiling.

She ends up in a corner of the room, extolling the architectural history of the town to a business man from Chicago, his wife, and the lesbian couple whose names she remembers are Dawn and Tessa.

They're not the first same-sex couple to attend the retreat, but it is still rare enough that she remembers their names more easily.

They are standing close to one another, Dawn's arm casually slung around Tessa's waist. They're beautiful together, tall and thin and pretty. Polished in an inviting way. Encouraging people to look and then move on to more interesting views. _Look at how normal we are_ , Tessa's carefully coiled curls seem to say. Estelle's pretty sure she owns the same jacket.

"And what's all this?" Dawn asks, gesturing toward the books. "These don't look like they're just here to fill the bookcases."

"I'm afraid I'm a bit of a collector." The books, slowly acquired and lovingly displayed, are perhaps the most honest part of her persona. "These are all first editions, all dated before 1900." She cannot help the pride seeping into her voice.

"Oh wow," Tessa says, her eyes widening. Despite their similar tame outfits and generic feminine air, there is still a sharp difference between the two women. While Dawn, with her bold eyes and sly charm, seems to have been custom-made for the space, Tessa appears to be slightly out of tune. In this room, with these people, she feels somehow distinctly _American_.

Tessa turns an excited face to Dawn, who tightens her arm around her and smiles fondly back.

"We like to collect things as well," says Dawn. "Not anything as impressive of course."

"Oh it's not about being impressive, though. It's more about being able to look at it all in one place, no?"

"Yeah, this one likes the chase." She tilts her head toward Tessa, an odd little quirk to her lips.

"I just like knowing there is something out there that I want, and then figuring out how to get my hands on it. It's not weird," says Tessa in the same playful tone. They've turned toward each other, eyes locked, utterly failing at including anyone else in the conversation. Estelle, who settled into a bored companionship with her husband years ago, feels a slight irritated pang.

"What's that one over there," asks Ed, the wholesale dealer from Chicago about whom she had completely forgotten. He's pointing to a glass case in the middle of the shelves. Inside, a heavily decorated lectern is displaying a large leather-bound tome.

"This is the Blaeu Atlas. Well, the first tome at least. This is the very first edition, printed in the 16th century. My husband got it for me for our 10th anniversary."

The group murmurs appreciatively. Dawn untangles herself from Tessa, shaking her empty glass.

"Refill, anyone? Babe?" After everyone declines she leaves them for more drinks, stopping on the way to nibble on an appetizer.

Estelle watches her leave, caught by her strange charm, she turns back to the others, who were doing the same, and she's sure she sees a strange look on Tessa's face. There is something in the shape of her mouth, the little upward start of her eyebrows, that looks almost like longing. Almost immediately the look disappears, replaced by a benign smile. To her shame, Estelle feels a little vindicated, that this picture-perfect couple is not that perfect after all.

"Have you seen the bas-relief on the chimney?" she asks, corralling them toward the other side of the room.

Days later, when all the guests have gone and the last of the cars have departed, she will notice something wrong with the illustrations on the book in the glass case. But for now, everything is going swimmingly.

#### 3\. Debbie 

All in all, it's a beautiful ceremony. Debbie arrived just in time to slip into the church unnoticed, clutching the hand of Anton-from-the-gym. Anton was under the impression that Debbie was some sort of consultant and that they were attending the wedding of an old friend of hers. At least the second part was true. She was happy for Tammy and glad to be here, and if she repeated this to herself enough times she might actually make it out of this with her dignity intact.

The church was beautiful, of course, white wooden exterior and tasteful flowers inside. There were paper lanterns. It should have felt disgustingly quaint, but instead the whole thing had an air of east coast Americana. Experience true WASP heaven. It's already almost full; Debbie's not sure how many people here are from Ted's side and how many are from Tammy's. She's never met Tammy's family, or any of her non-criminal friends. Two nights and a weekend of playing pretend half a decade ago do not make a relationship, but if she had needed any more proof of that, the sea of unknown faces in front of her would be enough.

She spots Lou in the middle, just as Lou's craning her neck to look at her. She can't give Debbie the half-worried half-sympathetic look she clearly wants to give her, because she is sitting in a church surrounded by wedding guests, but Debbie has received that particular look enough times to see it anyway. She does not care for it and there is nothing to feel sympathetic about anyway, because she is very happy for her good friend who is getting married today, to someone else.

It's only when she finally finds a free pew in the back for them to squeeze into that she lets herself acknowledge that this sucks. Anton holds her hand tighter, and if he sees something on her face, he can just believe that she's an unfulfilled career woman in the throes of yearning.

Here, there is no one to stop her from thinking about Tammy's moans when Debbie caught her wrists on the bed and pressed the heel of her hand against her cunt, or how her thighs would tighten around Debbie's head, keeping her right there, or how finally, her spine would unravel and she would be loose and hazy and Debbie's. If that's what she wants to think about when the march is being played and vows are being exchanged and Ted's hands are shaking as he puts the ring on Tammy's finger and Tammy's hands aren't, that's her business.

After the bride and groom have been pelted with rice and gone into the car, everyone shuffles over to the reception hall, which is again, very beautiful and restrained and photo-ready. The paper lanterns are still here.

Lou immediately zeroes in on Debbie and calls her over to the group of elegant thirty-somethings she's already acquired. From then on it's a tunnel of introductions, small talk and gushing over the bride's dress and the ceremony. Anton, bless his heart, goes to get some drinks. He's younger than her, but not ridiculously so. Not middle-age crisis young. He's thirty-two, that's a ten-year difference, that's still age appropriate. It's about Tammy's age, but that's where the similarities end. He is tall and broad and so very dumb.

"I didn't know if you'd want the regular champagne or the other one," he says, carrying a drink in each of his big stupid hands. "I think that one's got berry liqueur in it."

She takes the champagne and leaves him with the pink-ish drink, turning back to the conversation.

Like her, Lou brought a younger date; unlike her, Lou did not go for stupid. The girl is actually very charming, wearing a gauzy sparkly dress, and is currently trying to explain exoplanets to her neighbor. She told Debbie her name earlier, but that was when Tammy laughed really loud on the other side of the room, and Debbie could only pay attention to so much.

She's trying to discreetly maneuver Lou away to ask about her date's name, when she realizes Lou has spent the entire evening calling her variations of _babe_ , _honey_ and _sweetheart_. She feels the awful truth set in like a shiver down her spine.

"Do you not know her name?" she hisses. Lou doesn't even look taken aback, she just gets that shitty smile on her face.

"And I thought I was hiding it pretty well."

"You brought someone you don't know to your friend's wedding?"

"She's been sleeping over for three weeks. I didn't just pick her up on the way here."

"And you don't know her name?"

Lou has always been Debbie's - well, not moral compass, but reason compass? Her very lazy conscience. Here to softly tighten the reins when Debbie got a little too caught up in the family business. And then she would start sleeping with someone and she would turn into this Disney villain, this jerk jock from a teen movie, this person who didn't remember the name of someone she had been fucking for three weeks. She's still smiling at Debbie, unrepentant. Debbie loves her so much.

They rejoin the group and Debbie does not see Tammy and her newly minted husband arrive until it's too late to make an exit. She joins in the congratulations, careful not to look like she's avoiding eye contact.

"And these are the girls from the book club," Tammy lies smoothly, gesturing at them. Despite everything, Debbie can't help being proud of Tammy's talent at deceit. The husband shakes their hands, polite, but he's clearly already forgotten their names.

"Your vows were so beautiful," says the anonymous girlfriend. Debbie does not remember enough of the wedding to guess if she's just being polite.

"Thanks," Ted answers. "For all the time we put into it, it goes by so fast!"

"I hear that was the hardest part over," says Lou. " Now you get to drink."

"Thank God for that!" Tammy says, big pink smile on her face. Debbie, who is not at her best right now, accidentally catches her eye. She gets stuck, can't look away, and she needs to say something normal before her stupid mouth gets away from her and she says what she has wanted to say all night. ( _He can't make you happy he doesn't know you I know you I know you leave-_ )

"Honeymoon?" she blurts out. "Where are you going?"

"Oh. Tokyo," Tammy says. She's always wanted to go. "I've always wanted to go."

"Gotta go down the bucket list," Ted says. "It's going to be harder to travel once we've got little ones." Shit. Fuck. Tammy's still looking at her, still smiling blandly. Debbie wants it to be a poker face so much she doesn't trust it.

"You guys already planning for that?" Anton asks. 

"Sure," says Ted. "Get the whole whole American dream, right?" The last part is addressed to Tammy, who finally looks away from Debbie.

"The whole shebang," she answers. And there it is. Something in the way she says it, her tone or the angle of her jaw. She's lying. Debbie feels like her whole body is hooked on a live wire.

It doesn't mean anything, she admonishes herself. So she's not thrilled about playing housewife, she still married him. But it doesn't matter, deep inside she's still crowing about her useless victory.

"Food's here!" Tammy exclaims. Black-clad waiters are swerving around already tipsy guests, lifting their plates out of harm's way. Debbie goes to sit at the nearest table and watches Tammy be led to the one in the center, under Ted's arm.

She wants to go over to where Tammy is sitting and lean in until she can feel Tammy's warmth against her face and she can smell the bottle's worth of hair product. She wants to tell her not to eat the entrée, some stupid rule, just to see her follow it. She puts a crab cake in her mouth.

#### 4\. Constance

They're all gathered back at Lou's place to celebrate the sale of the last jewel. Being together again so soon after the heist probably isn't the smartest idea, but sometimes the bounds forged in darkness are the strongest, or whatever.

There is weed and Lou's most undiluted alcohol, and they're all well on their way to smashed. Constance is sitting on the couch, Nine Ball lying down beside her, her head in Constance's lap. There's a conversation going on, but Constance is too busy marvelling at the perfect roundness of Leslie's shoulder to follow. Leslie is Leslie now, more often than Nine Ball, and that's another marvelous nugget of Constance's new life.

The other day, Leslie's little sister had barged into her apartment, clamoring for breakfast food, and upon finding Constance there, had immediately switched gears and demanded to know if she was "one of those cursed people who made my sister think Baller was a real name?" She's still wondering whether she wants to share this wondrous moment with the others or if she wants to keep it to herself, to cherish on her own.

"Are we going to stay in touch after this?" Daphne asks, like she's a kid at summer camp.

"Of course," Lou answers, her voice dangerously smooth. "And we're gonna have friendship bracelets and we'll never ever stop being friends."

"You're such a dick, Jesus," Debbie says, trying and failing to kick Lou. "At the very least I'm keeping all of your numbers because that was a smooth job and I don't waste a good contact." She turns to Daphne as she talks, and smiles. She looks like a friendly shark.

Everyone raises their glass. It _had_ been smooth as hell.

The thing with Debbie is that she is actually very nice but she does not laugh at Constance's jokes. She doesn't think Constance is funny at all, which means Constance spends a lot of their time together rolling out her best material.

She tries one right now, cutting off whatever she was saying to say something about a lobster, a mob boss, and a tequila glass. The joke dies an ignominious death and she is left with the same delicious disapproving silence that always follows, broken by the muffled giggles coming from her lap.

Leslie does laugh at her jokes, and she tells worse, even unfunny-er ones, and she likes to kiss Constance's smile after she's made them, so score for Constance.

The conversation has drifted again, in the way of stoned conversations immemorial. They are now excitedly discussing what they will do with the money, an evergreen subject.

If she's being honest, Constance had liked being a broke street magician, with no responsibilities, but being broke in New York fucking sucks, even if you know the right people and can adequately case out a place and you manage to get yourself a nice little squat of your-and-three-other-roommates' own, with only occasional blackouts and some cockroaches.

Like every broke millennial in New York she's thought about doing stand up, but the process of coming up with a tight five is not actually that funny, more like homework. And if you want to step up from three o'clock dive bar open mikes you have to actually put a lot of effort into like, marketing and shit. Selling your brand. Booking places and contacting agents; it's all one step away from writing a cover letter and she would rather live in the streets with the rats. Luckily for her she has other talents, so the rat plan has been shelved for later.

And now she's going to enjoy being a rich bum, which she assumes is going to be much of the same, with less roaches.

On her left she hears Amita's voice, shaped like a question. She loses some of it, struck by how relaxed she sounds, so different from when they first met. Might be the money, might be the weed, she thinks. She feels a fond smile overtake her face as she dials back to what they are saying.

"-your husband?"

"I already told him I was helping out a friend for a work emergency," Tammy answers, speaking each word carefully.

"He didn't ask anything more?"

"He's a very mellow man."

A snort comes from Constance's right side.

"Yeah, but what are you going to tell him after this?" she asks, curious now.

"What do you mean?"

"There's only so many work emergencies your friend's going to need."

"I only needed the one. I'm not doing this anymore."

It is so obviously bullshit that Constance doesn't even feel the need to point it out. She lets the lack of response from everybody else do the pointing-out for her.

She thinks it's a little messed up that Tammy never told her husband the truth. She lives with the guy. They have children. She feels like committing to create life together is a way bigger step than admitting that you used to fence stolen shit for a living, which isn't even like, such a big crime, honestly. It's not like she was out there killing people.

But what does Constance know. Her longest relationship ended after three months, when her girlfriend decided that magic fingers and killer jokes did not make up for a pile of dirty dishes and a complete lack of ambition. Maybe a crucial part of being in a long-term committed relationship is pretending to be a completely different person and lying all the time.

The thought bums her out and she must make a face or something, because Leslie makes an inquiring sound, lifting her hand to boop Constance's nose. She looks down, smiling. What does she have to lie about?

#### 5\. Keri

Her Mom and Dad are in meetings again. Keri thinks she knows what it means, but it's not a good thought to have in her head, so she tries not to think it too much.

Aunt Debbie's here. Keri thinks she knows her from when she was little, or at least her Mom talks about her like Keri's known her all along, even though Keri doesn't remember her at all. She's nice though. She's got cool stories and she always gives them gifts, but not like Grandpa and Grandma, where the gifts are only good sometimes and they look at you real hard when you're playing and you have to keep telling them you love it. Aunt Debbie just slides the gift over and goes to talk to Mom.

She's Mom's friend and Daddy doesn't like her very much. Keri thinks she's not supposed to know, but she can tell. He's always very polite with her, and you have to be nice and polite to the people you like, but he's very polite. Like how he is with Ms. Denver when she has them come to the school to talk about how Keri is not good at playing during recess, and then he is very _not_ polite about her in the car on the way back.

Keri doesn't know what Daddy says in the car when they go to meetings, but before they leave he always thanks Aunt Debbie kindly for looking after the kids, it's very nice she's taking the time, and he never says things like that to Amy when she comes to babysit.

Keri is not stupid, but she likes Aunt Debbie. Not as much as Derek likes her, though.

In the living room Debbie is trying to sit on the couch, but everytime it looks like she's finally settled, Derek thinks of a new thing to show her and goes running to get it. His little feet go stomping on the hardwood floor and his head barely avoids the corner of the table. Every time Debbie jumps up, wincing, ready to soothe him, every time for nothing. It's pretty funny to watch.

This time Derek comes back with the napkin holder he did at school for Father's Day. He painted it purple and green, his favorite colors, and it is way uglier than the orange and red one Keri did when she was in kindergarten. Debbie holds it, smiles and tells Derek it's really pretty. Derek, who is too young to have a brain yet, believes her.

He remembers some other toy he has in his room ( _"he has knees that bend!"_ ) and gets up, but Debbie stops him and hands him the washable markers he brought her earlier and tells him to draw her something awesome.

She comes to the stairs where Keri is perched, observing them. She sits next to her, still smiling, and Keri likes her but she smiles a little too much.

"He's a happy kid," she says.

"He's got tapioca pudding in his head," Keri answers. Mom said that about someone on TV once, and it's still the funniest thing Keri has heard. She glances at Debbie to see her reaction. She wants Debbie to think she's funny, but if she agrees about Derek Keri'll put tomato soup in her coat pockets.

"Nah it's pretty solid in there," Debbie says, laughing, saving her pockets and probably Keri's freedom.

"He doesn't know anything," Keri adds, now that she knows it's safe.

"Well, he's only four."

"He keeps asking Mom and Dad when their fever is gonna go away, because he thinks they're going to doctor's appointments." She does not add that she also thought that and was the one who told him in the first place, because that was the only other time their parents would use the word "appointment".

"Is that not where they're going?"

"No. They go see someone so they can stop arguing and it's not working." She was right, she does not like the idea at all.

Aunt Debbie makes a little noise, like _go on_.

"I can tell when they're being weird, they don't like to tell me but I can tell." When she asked what they were doing over there, Mom told her that sometimes adults had big feelings and they went to see someone who could help them deal with those feelings and that it was perfectly normal and nothing had to change. That was before Aunt Debbie started to help with the babysitting.

"Because you're very smart."

"Mhm." She's not supposed to hum when she's answering people, because it's not polite, but she's also not supposed to be talking about this with Aunt Debbie. She is slowly starting to realize that she gets to choose when to follow the rules and when not to. She decides that it's okay, for now.

When she looks at Aunt Debbie she is smiling at Keri, like she knows what she's thinking and she approves.

Another thought has started to sprout in her mind. She does not have to tell. If the adults can choose to keep this thing from her, she can keep her own things from them. There is only one snag in her plan.

"Do you have to tell Mom?" she asks. Aunt Debbie and Mom are friends, and friends tell each other things.

"I think your Mom already knows you're smart." It's not what she was asking, but it still makes her feel happy.

"About how I know they're fighting."

Aunt Debbie stays silent for a moment, looking like she is really thinking about it. Then she leans in and says:

"If there's anything I know how to do, it's keep a secret. You can tell them when you want."

Relief floods her, along with a new, softer feeling, the word _secret_ floating around in her head. She thinks back to something Ms. Denver said when Nate Doaley broke the sink in the boys' bathroom, what she called those who hadn't tattled.

Keri has an accomplice now.

#### +1 Tammy

Tammy wakes up on her own in a quiet room. There is little light filtering through the curtains, but it's December, so it's hard to tell what time it is. She's not worried; they don't have to be anywhere before their plane leaves at six. The preparations for the job are already done. They have the whole day.

She stretches lazily, taking up the whole bed. The other side is still warm. From the kitchen she can hear cupboards opening and closing, mugs knocking on the counter and the churning of the coffee maker.

She wiggles her toes happily and drifts off.

"Wake up, lazy." Debbie is sitting down next to her, a mug of coffee in her hand. Tammy can't tell how long she's been dozing. She's still not used to this, sleeping in and long uninterrupted days for just the two of them. Ted took the children to his parents' in Columbus for the week, and Debbie has made a point of helping Tammy celebrate her brand new divorce.

So far it has involved a lot of sex, as many terrible Hallmark movies as Tammy can force Debbie to watch, and a lot more eating in bed than she would have tolerated with Ted.

Debbie puts the coffee down on the side table and lies back onto the bed, holding herself over Tammy on her forearms.

"Hi," she says, grinning. Tammy can smell the coffee on her breath; the old T-shirt Debbie put on to make breakfast feels soft against her skin.

She hooks her hand around Debbie's neck, buries it into her hair, and drags her down into a kiss.

She holds their lips together for a few beats, then pulls back, pushes back in, again and again, tiny little pecks until Debbie groans and lets herself fall further onto Tammy, covering her. Tammy shudders and opens her mouth, feels Debbie's tongue slide against hers. The last of the sleep clinging to her brain evaporates; she's so warm, everywhere Debbie touches her igniting.

She fumbles with the sheets, trying to get her legs free. Debbie pulls back in the struggle and Tammy moans at the loss. She's so into this, so fast. It must be the remnants of last night, she thinks, the pleasure and satisfaction stretching over the hours, turning her brain to mush.

At last she tugs her legs free and wraps them around Debbie's waist, pulling her back in. Debbie lost her shirt while Tammy was struggling, and the feeling of Debbie's breasts brushing hers makes Tammy moan again, louder.

Heat pools in her stomach. Debbie's hand skates over her ribs, up between her breasts and settles on her throat, light and casual. Tammy feels the air leave her lungs, making a breathy sound on the way out. Debbie's smile turns sharper.

"Yeah?" she asks.

Tammy nods, "Yeah," and lifts her chin, leans up into Debbie's hand.

Debbie tsks-tsks and moves her hand up a bit, her thumb digging into Tammy's jaw.

"Are you gonna be good?" she asks.

"For now," Tammy says.

Debbie's smile widens and she looks downright delighted. She keeps it on for a few seconds, letting Tammy see, before she covers it up with a smirk.

"Are you gonna be mine?" She pushes a little, cranes Tammy's head even further back.

Tammy moves her legs restlessly, trying to get some leverage and to push herself closer to Debbie, rub herself against her, but Debbie keeps her bent, pinned down.

"Yes," she says. She feels splayed open, all of her right there for Debbie to see. She's sure Debbie can feel Tammy's heart beating under her hand, how fast it's going.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's expecting the part of her that usually worries about this to rear up and cringe at the light, but there's nothing. Only an ache for Debbie to keep looking at her, keep touching her.

"Good," Debbie says before leaning down and kissing her some more.


End file.
